The Mad Men series finale: it's the real thing!

I don't know if I was the only one who was a bit queased-out by the final episode of Mad Men last night. My lack of excitement before I even saw it was telling, and all the way through it I was poised for "it-was-all-a-dream" syndrome, something hopelessly hokey to just kill the whole thing.

In a way, it happened. (This is full of spoilers, so if it's on your DVR and you haven't seen it yet, well, just keep on reading!) I noted an uncharacteristic compulsion to neatly-if-artificially tie up loose ends, and, especially, pair off those nice deserving kids with the right partners (while paring down other, less-workable connections). The show got heavily into the EST-y, Esalin-ish movements of the early '70s, with Don, the least likely candidate, being most deeply-involved. 

Though they didn't show Betty lying with waxen beauty in her coffin with a lily in her hand (and her husband, ol' Whatsisname, anxiously shaking hands up and down the aisle of the church wondering if his wife's corpse was pretty enough to win him the Governorship - sorry, I can't forgive him for that VERY BAD crying scene last week), they did show her smoking as she gently expired from lung cancer. How ironic: it's Betty who self-destructs, not Don.

I won't get into the rest of it because reciting the details lays bare just how soap-operatic the show had become.  How they ended Don - suicidal one minute, compassionate the next, followed by blissfully "ohmmm"-ing on a hilltop - made me literally groan out loud. The topper for all this was a repeat of the "iconic" Coke commercial of 1971, in which an angelic choir of wholesome and well-fed hippies proclaims Coke as "The Real Thing". Irony alert! Irony alert!

The show was all about artifice, wasn't it? Illusion, delusion, hawking products that were just products, things, not some fulfillment of the American Dream. (Remember the carousel? And how about "it's toasted", which essentially means nothing). I don't know if this was intended or not, but three minutes before the ending of the ending, I was saying out loud, "Okay, then. . . " As the old jazz musician once said after playing for 12 hours, "How we gonna end this thing?"

They ended it all right, because they had to. Old Wienerhead finally had his day. (Spelling variation intentional.) I don't know if it was because only one person acted as emperor and Ayatollah, but sometimes the seams showed. The seams represented how much air time a character was allowed in each episode/season. This was contractual, and seemingly non-negotiable. How do I know this? When AMC insisted on adding an extra commercial, a character had to be dropped. This horrified me, but it didn't seem to bother anyone else. And then there were the "hysteric returns": oh Jesus, there's Duck Phillips again! How'd he get in here? He rose from the dead more predictably and annoyingly than Jesus. How did this happen? Why, folks, it was in his contract! Duck Phillips must have had a particularly good agent and worked all this out from the beginning of the series. Sal Romano did not, and was out on his ass just as his character was starting to get interesting. 

It's over, it's over, it's over, as Roy Orbison once wailed, and I'm a bit relieved, and also kind of let down. Sort of like getting married, I think. I've never been divorced, so I can't comment on that. At its best, this show kicked ass. I was in love with Don and made little gifs of him (a sure sign of fascination. No Blingees, though. Can I make one now?). I could hardly believe how consistently good it was. When did it all begin to slip sideways? Everyone wants to blame Megan, poor thing, but wasn't it really all her fault? It had something to do with the way she embarrassed Don in front of all his friends with the Zoo-bee-doo-bee-doo thing.

That would kill any show's mojo, don't you think?

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Gimme some Givvies!

In my never-ending quest to find the perfect men's underwear ad, I found this one instead. "Givvies" must have been the main rival of Munchhausen or whatever those other ones were, the ones with the stretchy seat.

Uh, this is sort of strange. But I do love a man in uniform.

I don't know why all the circles on this guy, what they represent. Maybe the areas that most desperately need covering up.

Here's a guy home from the war, and his wife is being praised for knowing "the difference". Good for her! She must've kept her eyes open.

Givvies won't give you "the creeps", apparently, but creeps might follow you home.

And what's in that book? My guess is it's his first marriage manual. He's trying to believe what people are doing in the diagrams.

Just don't get behind this guy.

I could shoot myself. But I don't know why.

POST-BLOG REGRETS: Now that I've had some time to reflect on all this, I definitely want to find some "anti-squirm shorts". With a seamless seat.

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Go, men. . . go Munsingwear!

These are some choice cuts from the Munsingwear cartoon-style ads I love so well. I find these rife with paradox: at a time (1940s) when homophobia could not have been more rampant, it was common, even perfectly acceptable to depict half-naked men in locker rooms talking about their underwear. They would even argue about the relative merits of their ginch (gonch, gitch, gatch), often criticizing their buddy for having a baggy ass or sagging crotch. My favorite shows two men in bed:  "Leave me alone, you big overstuffed Easter Bunny!" "Wise guy, huh? Tomorrow a.m., when you're sweating icicles, think of me in these draft-proof Slumberalls! They're so comfortable, you don't know you've got 'em on!" A not-so-subtle image, when you think about it, and which (when added to the pillow fight with the guy bending over) makes for an uncomfortable, yet compelling sociological whatayacallit.

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This is why nothing happens to you

EDNA'S case was really a pathetic one. Like every woman, her primary ambition was to marry. Most of the girls of her set were married - or about to be. Yet not one possessed more grace or charm or loveliness than she.

And as her birthdays crept gradually toward that tragic thirty-mark, marriage seemed farther from her life than ever.

She was often a bridesmaid but never a bride.

That's the insidious thing about halitosis (unpleasant breath). You, yourself, rarely know when you have it. And even your closest friends won't tell you.

Sometimes, of course, halitosis comes from some deep-seated organic disorder that requires professional advice. But usually - and fortunately - halitosis is only a local condition that yields to the regular use of Listerine as a mouthwash and gargle. It is an interesting thing that this well-known antiseptic that has been in use for years for surgical dressings, possesses these unusual properties as a breath deodorant.

It halts food fermentation in the mouth and leave the breath sweet, fresh and clean. Not by substituting some other odor but by really removing the old one. The Listerine odor itself quickly disappears. So the systematic use of Listerine puts you on the safe and polite side. Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Mo

This Smart Moire Cosmetic Bag FREE with PURCHASE OF LARGE SIZE LISTERINE
THE HIT OF PALM BEACH at your druggist's while they last
This offer good in U. S. A. only

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What a douche!

This is the latest in a long, incredible line of ads aimed at women, presumably post-War. This absolutely baffled me at first (actually, it still does). It seems to be hinting, nay, stating that married women have a certain delicate little problem, one so offputting it can "ruin" a happy marriage.

Not to put too fine a point on it, their cunts stink.

We don't know why (except that we do!), as these are women who look to be clean and tidy, women who change their underwear daily and take baths. (And wash their hair in the sink and roll it up in a towel like a turban. Oh, I remember.)

I can only decipher this mystery as such: women smell so horrible and rank and offensive because they have had sex with their husbands. So it's HIS excrescenses that stink so much, except SHE gets the blame for it, and for breaking up the marriage.

So what's the solution (so to speak)? Why, Lysol Brand Disinfectant! You don't use it straight (or at least I don't think so), but add about a teaspoon to your "regular" douche, the douche you have every day because women's private parts are inherently smelly and foul.

I can only imagine how she'd smell THEN. Like a freshly-scrubbed kitchen floor, maybe, or a toilet that had just been swabbed out. A real turn-on, and obviously preferable to smelling like your husband's rotten festering day-old spooge.

Personally, I thought Lysol was for drinking when you're really desperate, or when the liquor store clerk throws you out for loitering. It goes well anywhere, most especially under a bridge, and with anything, namely Sterno. But for cunt hygiene, well, it's not the first thing I would have thought of.

But there is one thing I know, honorable readers (and forgive me for using the word cunt, it's the only one I could think of besides twat) - it's that stupid-ass HUSBAND who is the real douche, and for that, he deserves a Lysol enema so potent it will spurt out of his ears.

Love-quiz. . . For Married Folks Only

(This is a word-for-blotchy-word transcript of one of the many Lysol "Love Quiz" ads "for married folk only". The coy reference to "Lysol. . . every time" could only mean one thing.)

COULD THIS MARRIAGE HAVE BEEN SAVED?

A. Yes. . . had the wife taken heed of her husband's increasing coolness, known the secret of thorough feminine hygiene, kept herself lovely to love.

Q. What does feminine hygiene have to do with keeping married happiness?

A. Far more than some women realize. . . but the WISE wife has the assurance of complete daintiness when she uses "Lysol" brand disinfectant REGULARLY in the douche.

"Check these facts with your doctor. . . "

Q. Many women use a douche only now and then. Is regularity in douching so important?

A. Yes, indeed. . . it should be a routine procedure with every married woman, and always with "Lysol". Because it has marvelous deodorant properties due to its PROVEN ability to kill germs instantly on contact.

Q. How about homemade solutions, such as salt and water?

A. They are old-fashioned and ineffectual, not to be compared with "Lysol"'s scientific formula. "Lysol" has tested efficiency in contact with organic matter. It is both effective and safe for delicate tissues when used as directed. 

ALWAYS USE "LYSOL" in the douche for its efficiency in combating both germs and odours. It will help you feel you have perfect grooming (for) romance.

Check these facts with your doctor (unintelligible)

Why 4 OUT OF 5 PREFER "LYSOL"!

For Feminine Hygiene use "Lysol" Every time

FREE BOOKLET! 

(the rest unintelligible, but contains the word "Lysol" at least three times. The product name appears about ten times in the copy. So we won't forget.)

OK then, so this is a repeat of something I did awhile ago, but the same truths apply. Bizarre and obnoxious as advertising is now, it was infinitely worse then.

I'm sorry, it's late, but I had to show you this. I hope you can read the text. I had to look at it twice, or more likely about 600 times to believe what I was seeing.

Women were conned into believing they were so stinky and drippy, the only solution was to douche every day with LYSOL. What did they have, bugs up their vagina? Were their twats so desperately in need of disinfection?

The add doesn't say this, in fact nobody ever says it, but MEN are the main reason women get stinky in the first place. You try getting ejaculated into, and not smell like an elderly salmon.

This ad is more horrific than the one about "more doctors recommend Camels". But if it doesn't work as a douche, I guess you could always drink it.

(Discovery! This ad wasn't a fluke: now I find a slew of them. A whole sociological treatise! If a woman smells like a woman, her marriage is over. If she smells like Lysol, however. . . va-va-VOOM!)

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.ca/2013/04/the-glass-character-synopsis.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Just in time for St. Patrick's Day: FINIAN'S RAINBOW MEATS!

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.ca/2013/04/the-glass-character-synopsis.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Kitsch from the Bitsch

It's oh so late, I am bloody tired, but this is when I do my major blogging. I cannot tell you how frustrating it has been to try to set up the launch of my Harold Lloyd book. It just isn't coming together, and now I realize it's been ten years since I've even done one of these! Never mind, let's bury ourselves in some enjoyable imagery from one of my fave FB pages, The Kitsch Bitsch.

Strange woman in bra and girdle talking on a lot of blue phones at the same time. Oh, those cords.

I don't know about the food on this page. It's almost like the dog had an accident on the rug. Nearly everything is jellied, held in suspension and quivering. This has a little moat in the middle, holding the Lord knows what. So long as it isn't moving.

As the immortal KB says, you can't make this stuff up. I devoted a whole previous post to the Munsingwear men, gleefully bantering back and forth about the state of their underwear. These undies look sort of like girdles and feature the patented "stretchy seat" that these fellows just love to dish about. Munsingwear also patented the kangaroo-pouch fly, which I can't look at for very long if it's on a certain kind of guy, because my body just sort of does this "thing" all by itself. Some sort of primitive reflex, no doubt. A hangover from my reproductive years.  Ye gods. . . time for bed. . .

https://www.facebook.com/thekitschbitsch

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